Old Habits Die Hard
by Ruthless
Summary: On Hold.When Duncan discovers one of Richie's bad habits has resurfaced can he break the teen from it? And why did he start again?


**Old Habits Die Hard**

Duncan stood in the doorway careful not to make a sound that would alert the teen to his presence. Richie was sitting with his back to the door, tying a bandage around his arm with the steady hand of an expert.

When he was sure there were no longer any sharp instruments in the boys' hand he shoved the door so that it struck the wall, with a slight thump. Richie jumped a mile at the sound, and looked up. His face went almost white as his eyes lit upon the Immortal. There was an audible noise as he swallowed.

In Duncan's books that was proof enough. He strode across the room, an unreadable expression on his face, "Give me the arm."

"Why should I?" Richie snarled, trying to keep the quiver he could fell out of his voice, and hastily pulling his sleeve back down.

There was no way Duncan was going to waste time arguing with the lad. Instead he just grabbed the arm, mayhap a little rougher than what was necessary, and forced the sleeve back up. His eyes quickly went over the old collection of scars that were on the underside. Sure, he'd been nursing more than a little suspicion about them, but he'd never imagined something like this.

Blood was already beginning to soak through the makeshift bandage. Fighting to keep the fury that was rising in his chest off of his face he tore the bandage off. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed._ Shit, that's a deep cut._

"Richard Ryan, what in hell do you think you are doing?"

"Don't see why you should give a damn," he tried to pull free from Duncan's grasp but the hand holding him tightened.

"Well?"

Richie was careful not to meet Duncan's eye. Instead he settled for glaring at his chest, "It's not any of your business. It's my body; it's up to me what I do."

"Like hell it is. I'll not have you doing this under my roof," Duncan's free hand tilted Richie's head back. The kid went even whiter when he caught a glimpse of the emotion in his eyes. Every word was perfectly measured, "Give me the knife."

"No. It's mine and it's not like I'm a kid."

This time Duncan couldn't help it. He gave the kid a sharp cuff to the side of the head. He regretted it the second he'd done it, but still, better surprise then further injury, "Well you certainly aren't acting like an adult," he held his hand out again, "So give it to me."

Richie bowed his head. It wasn't like the blow had actually hurt or anything. It was more just the shock of Duncan doing something like that. And that he trusted - even liked - the man made it all the worse. He'd been beat before, and bad enough to scar, but it hadn't really hurt because it hadn't reached his soul. Duncan, on the other hand, could make him feel bad with a single, disappointed look.

"Yes sir," he muttered, reaching into his pocket with the one hand he was still being allowed to use. He pushed the pocketknife into Duncan's hand and drew a trembling breath.

After wiping the worst of the blood away Duncan re-bound the cut, a little tighter than it had been before, "Get out and wait in the car."

In spite of himself Richie snared, "Why? Gonna dump me on some street corner are you, MacLeod?"

Duncan wrestled with the urge to resume yelling, "No," the tone of his voice once again gave no hint to his frustration, "I am going to take you to the hospital."

"I can take care of myself."

"Maybe that's true, but at the moment I am responsible for your welfare. I am not going to have you bleeding out over everything while you try to prove your responsibility to me. That, in case you didn't realise, is a very serious cut. Now go, before I carry you."

Richie barely withheld a sigh. He wanted to keep arguing, but it wasn't like there was any point to it. And beside, the guy he was arguing with was becoming less and less like the one he knew, and more like the warrior he had seen chop off another dude's head. And it hadn't been all that long ago either. Without another word he turned his back and headed outside.

In an effort to bring his heart rate back to normal Duncan shut his eyes and drew a deep breath. _Why does the kid insist upon being so damn foolhardy? _He asked himself. Then, lacking a reply he counted to ten in Russian. When the exercise didn't work he repeated it in Gaelic. And English. And French. And German.

When he was finally certain of his ability to hold himself in check for the duration of the ride he made his own way out to the car and slid into the front seat.

" Duncan, I'm…" Richie trailed of as Duncan raised a hand.

"We'll discuss this later."

Without anything to distract him Duncan was left with only his thoughts for the drive. The thoughts, which came to make him question where he'd gone wrong, and question what had made Richie, return to one of his old habits.

One thing was for certain. If they didn't deal with this soon then he was going to have those scars for a very long time.


End file.
